


Future-Past Experience.

by Kiki78



Series: A Potter through Time and Space. [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dean in Panties, Dean time travels too, How did Smut happen in my fic?, M/M, Masturbation, Over lapping time lines, Smut, Spoilers, Spoilers for everything, The Deathly Hallows, The owl is important, Time Travel, Torchwood References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-06-05 10:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6701029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiki78/pseuds/Kiki78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1992, and the Doctor's adopted son, twelve year old wizard Harry Potter, is excited to finally be able to contact his friends... Sam and Dean Winchester and tell them all about the wizarding world! Maybe he should have told them about the owls?</p><p>Sam and Dean find out the hard way that being friends with Harry Potter is complicated when a future version of him turns up at Bobby's with a very specific yet easy request. Harry wants Dean to hide something for him. Problem being, to fight against Amara and Lucifer, Dean from 2016 wants both Harry and what young Dean is trying to hide. </p><p>Things are never simple.</p><p>They are even less simple when John Hart enters the mix and decides that he wants what Harry has.</p><p>Edited/updated the tags and rating. Why did SMUT end up in my fic? What is the world coming to...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_August 24 AD 79, Pompeii._

_Son of a bitch._

_Looking up at the mountain spewing fire and molten rock, Dean mentally swore. Two hours ago he’d been on a sub, in world friggin war two, then hauled back to the relative safety of the Men of Letters bunker… Only to find out that their fine feathered friend wasn't Cass, but Lucifer in a Cass-suit. That was an hour ago._

_Add regular angel power to a friggin’ archangel, Lucifer was juiced to do just about anything he damn well felt like. Which in this case, turned out to be sending Dean to get murdered by the most famous volcano in history._

_Now, judging by the extreme toga party going on, and Vesuvius pretending to be the most bad-ass firework in existence... well, Dean figured he was dead._

  
**************************************************  


_August 24, 1992. South Dakota._

John Winchester had just pulled up the long driveway to Singer's Salvage Yard, the impala cut an impressive swath through the dust swirling in the wind. Closer to the porch, an even stronger breeze picked up and John could barely make out a light, slowly followed by an old wooden blue box coming into visibility, the Saint John's cross almost non-existent on the faded door panel. 

The blue box had a name. Tardis. Dean already had been _subjected_ to an involuntary trip in that thing. Then there was a suspenders wearing Doctor that flounced about, Clara tutting over his boys, a plastic owl and a teenage wizard that had decided it wanted to be friends with Sam and Dean. 

Even from the Impala, John could hear that distinctive wheezing, groan as the Tardis materialized on Bobby’s front porch. One hand on the wheel, John reached down and picked up his shotgun before motioning for Dean and Sam, despite their protests, to hunker down. After driving for well over a day, with varying rest stops, the Winchesters had just finished rolling in from Arizona. John wasn't in any mood for any more of this _Doctor_ bullshit. They’d only _just_ gotten back. 

The Tardis door swung open and a thin man wearing a brown and blue pin-striped suit leaned out with a bright grin on his face. Were those sideburns? This man looked nothing like either _Doctor_ that John had previously met. 

“Alons-y Winchesters!” 

That was it, John shot the Tardis. 

  
**************************************************  


“What?!” The Doctor instinctively ducked back behind the door, only to reappear seconds later. “You _SHOT_ my Tardis!?” The buckshot had embedded itself into the side of the blue box, miraculously causing no where near the amount of damage it should have. “Now why in the world would you go and do something like that?!” 

Still looking somewhat miffed but mostly annoyed, the Doctor stepped out and checked on the damage. Almost comically, he tried buffing the broken bits of wood away with his jacket sleeve. “ _Rude_ is what it is.” 

Inside the Tardis various voices could be heard, presumably from other passengers, several of which sounded relatively young, with some raised in alarm over the shooting. One of the voices specifically asked if they’d even managed to land in the right year. The Doctor straightened out the front of his suit jacket and swotted a few splinters off his cuff, not that any of this helped smooth the wrinkles out, then turned to speak with one of the people still inside the Tardis. “Harry, you sent those birthday invites out to your little friends, right?” 

“Dad. Of course I did.” Now it was Harry’s turn to poke his head into the doorway. Messy black hair, unnaturally bright green eyes, glasses, and a fresh looking lightning-bolt shaped scar above his right brow; it definitely was _a_ Harry Potter. This Harry wasn’t the young one from before, nor was he the older one. Instead, this particular Harry was somewhere in between, physically not much _larger_ than Sam. “I owled those on the last day of class. If they’re shooting at us, that means we landed on the _wrong_ day.” 

“Oh. Still. They shouldn’t be shooting. It’s very rude.” 

Bobby was now coming out of the house, shotgun in hand as well. It seemed like a great time for Harry to manhandle his dad _back_ into the Tardis before more shooting happened. “Dad, they’re americans. They shoot guns. It’s sort of their thing.” 

“Well, I don’t like it.” The Doctor stated with a tut. With that, the Tardis door swung shut with a solid sounding click and vanished as easily and as noisily as it had appeared, leaving the Winchesters tell Bobby about what all had happened to them… and about the Doctor and Harry. 

  
**************************************************  


_An old memory of something Jack Harkness said when Dean was a kid came screaming back. Volcano day. Fucking time-travellers for some damn reason liked Volcano Day! Jack had liked it for cleaning up cons. Hell, even the Doctor, Donna and Harry had been here… Wracking his brain, Dean managed to remember Harry talking about some marble trader named Caecilius, and most importantly that the Tardis had ended up in the guy’s shop._

_The Tardis was here. It was hope. Slim, but there was a fucking hope of surviving this._

_Dean decided to beat feet before the toxic gasses emanating from Vesuvius totally K’O’d him._

  
**************************************************  


_September 5, 1992. Hogwarts._

“Right. So if this doesn’t work,” Harry _explained_ to Archie, “I’ll probably sound like a right one.” In his hands, Archimedes warbled happily. Not that anything needed to be explained… after all, the owl was the one doing the brunt of the work. The Doctor had gotten the little plastic owl for Harry shortly after the first meeting with Sam and Dean. The AI system that ran Archimedes was from the forty-second century; originally designed to operate and maintain a smart-home to it’s owner's preferences, the public quickly adapted the technology to use in other areas of life. 

Case in point, Archie. Nanny-cam, companion, Time-Lord enhanced storage space, external hard-drive… and in this instance, video camera. Harry didn’t understand half the stuff Archie was programed to do. He was just happy it tended to work out. The company that made Archimedes’ processors took two weeks fine-tuning the complex code to Harry specifically. 

Last year, in 1991, when the Doctor dropped him off a week late for the start of class (Harry assumed this was one of the main reasons the Potions Master, Professor Snape, hated him) there had been a heated debate over Archie’s presence. Well, the debate came up once the professors stopped trying to hex Harry’s foster dad into oblivion. 

Archimedes was, and wasn’t an owl. 

Archimedes was, and wasn’t alive. 

Archimedes was, and wasn’t muggle technology. 

Students were allowed to have a rat, a cat, a toad or an owl. As far as Harry was concerned, Archie was an owl. Others (Professor Snape in particular) were of the opinion that Archie was nothing more than a fancy muggle toy and had no place at Hogwarts. 

When Martha flat out suggested that if they didn’t like the owl, Harry could just as easily go to a non-magic school… Dumbledore relented. The very next day a normal, flesh and blood, snowy owl showed up for Harry as an apparent compromise to the situation. Harry never bothered asking his dad where the new bird came from (mostly because he suspected that he wouldn’t like the answer). 

But. That was then. And this was now. 

It was finally 1992, and Harry could message Sam and Dean. Having just spent the past four hours in detention with Lockhart, Harry figured that recording a small video would help him unwind. A video was worlds easier to deal with than quill and parchment, and with how cramped his hand felt after addressing that much fan-mail… 

  
**************************************************  


In the second week of September (three or so weeks after Tardis and Arizona _incident_ , and one week after John managed to disappear yet again on another hunt) an oversized white owl appeared on Bobby’s front porch. Fluttering around insistently, the bird screeched loudly drawing attention to itself. Tied to its leg was a good sized parcel wrapped in protective thick brown paper and tied with twine. As it flapped it’s wings, the owl hovered slightly in the air, dragging the package along the porch leaving furrows in the unswept dust and dirt of the porch. 

Not being an ornithologist, for the life of him, Bobby didn't know what the hell was up with the bird. The owl was fairly distinctive. It wasn't as though snowy owls never made appearances in South Dakota, rare, but they did happen. Problem was, they tended to only show up in the middle of winter… hence the _snowy_ part of the moniker. This particular over-stuffed feather duster was a few months early. 

Out of season could be dismissed if it were sick, but the stupid thing was huge and very healthy looking. Unfortunately illness couldn't explain away the bird's luggage. 

With both Sam and Dean currently off at school for the day, Bobby attempted to get rid of the damn thing. 

Bobby tried to shoo the bird away. The owl hissed back in irritation, golden eyes flashed as it gave the grizzled hunter a withering look as though all of the owl’s ancestors had been gravely insulted. 

Most of the day, the owl made certain to stay out of reach. Eventually Bobby strongly contemplated just shooting it and getting whatever the hell it carried that way. When the shotgun made an appearance, the owl disappeared somewhere on the roof (an amazing feat considering the owl's coloring). 

When Dean and Sam came back from school, the owl screeched down at the boys from the rooftop. In the middle of the gravel driveway Dean stepped in front of Sam as great silent sweeping wings brought the snowy owl within arm's length of the two boys. Perched atop of its parcel, it chirped and chittered almost expectantly. 

**************************************************

_Dean rounded a corner as he tried to not get battered by the scared populace as they ran every which way, more and more frightened with each new tremor. Twenty thousand people were going to die. Harry once called it bloodied calculus, and never bothered to explain more. Dean had learned that it was never a good sign when Harry shut up about stuff._

_Every second gone, was a second closer to missing the Tardis, if it even was still here._

_A marketplace that looked like it might be the one Harry had described was passed on the left. Another few streets, and there was the best option for Caecilius._

_Dean made it through the doorway in time to see Caecilius’s daughter disappear into the Tardis. The din around him made it impossible for Dean’s voice to carry well enough for anyone inside the Tardis to hear him as he screamed for them to wait._

_The Tardis was gone before Dean even covered half the distance between him, and where the Tardis had been. Fuck._

_“Well, aren’t you a looker.”_

_Dean stopped at the unfamiliar voice. Male, british, other than that, Dean had no clue. The one important thing about it was, it spoke english. Modern english. “Yeah, I’m downright adorable.” Dean snarked as he turned to see the owner of the mystery voice, and found himself looking at a blond wearing clothes from a mishmash of time periods. The most striking article of clothing being the british red coat. “And you are?”_

_“Captain John Hart.” Small marble sculpture in hand, John’s twinkling eyes roamed up and down Dean’s body with a nod of approval of what he saw. The blond didn’t even bother disguising the fact that he was slowly undressing Dean in his mind. Not that Dean knew, but there really wasn't any chance that John was going to let Dean die in the past. Tease him, maybe, but as an ex-Time Agent, John Hart had more than just some clue of what awaited the Winchesters in the future. Leaving one to die in the past. Well, that was bad. “I know exactly who you are. Which brings us to the very important question… how_ desperate _are you for me to save that oh-so fuckable ass?”_

_John figured that if Dean was willing to play along.... well, they'd both have fun. If not, then so be it. Sex and games were only fun when both sides wanted it; only small-dicked troglodytes were pathetic enough to try and force themselves on something unwilling. Any of John's previous hook-ups could attest to the fact that John was very capable and imaginative in and out of bed... or any horizontal surface to tell the truth. Sometimes vertical surfaces. Anti-grav. Though some space-suits were tricky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated a little description of Archie... my fiance pointed out that the owl needed a little clarification in case new readers started here instead of over in Potter, Ponds and a Winchester.
> 
> Instead of having Harry waving around a sonic-screwdriver like the Doctor, the toy-owl seemed an appropriate substitute a'la K-9. After all, Harry already has a wand. A sonic-screwdriver would just be over-kill. <3
> 
> Update (again). Someone pointed out that John Hart felt a little... uhm, rapey? He's not a great guy, but I don't see him stealing more than a grope. So, went in and fixed any perceived non-con. But honestly, I'd like to believe that a guy from the 51st century is above forcing himself on someone. 
> 
> After all, they can have so much more fun if Dean isn't actively trying to murder John in his sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Still chittering at Sam and Dean, the white owl fluttered its wings in the dusty gravel driveway. The owl nibbled at the strap that kept the package securely attached to its leg. One end of the strap pulled in the right way by a clever and sharp beak, and the ties keeping package with the bird fell loose, allowing the owl to flap away from the parcel. Instead of disappearing to wherever owls tend to go during the day, this one perched itself on the rain gutters of Bobby’s house. Wide golden eyes studiously watched the Winchester boys before preening began in earnest to get rid of the accumulated dust.

Shortly after the package was released from its messenger, Bobby managed to get out to where Sam and Dean were still standing and staring. Even knowing about the supernatural world, an owl pretending to be a USPS delivery guy-- that, that was a new one. 

Written in green ink, in neat, precise, yet bold handwriting, across the top of the brown paper enveloping the package was something of an address. 

Deliver to:  
Sam and Dean Winchester (c/o)  
Bobby Singer’s Salvage Yard  
America 

“I think it's from Harry?” Sam questioned once he noticed the tiny return address written in the upper corner. Sure enough, Harry’s and the school’s name was there. The return address was equally unspecific and even less helpful, as it didn't even bother to specify the country of origin. 

“Maybe, owls are normal for _his_ kind of wizard? Remember when the Tardis showed up here, Harry made a comment about _owling_ us. It might be something like that Disney movie, The Sword in the Stone? Merlin had an owl named--” Sam stopped, snickered and took a deep breath before he continued giggling. 

Dean also laughed. It was stupid and funny in it’s own way. “Archimedes. Harry's owl is Archie.” They'd seen part of the list of movies that the older Harry had digitally stored in that toy owl. There had been an entire folder dedicated to Disney alone. “He _named_ his owl after some dumb cartoon.” 

No one bothered to ask the most obvious question. How did an owl even know where to deliver this package? 

Bringing the package inside, Bobby checked to make sure there were no curses as it was unpacked. Not that he expected to find any. From what Bobby heard about this Harry kid, as weird as the circumstances were, it sounded like the kid might not be all that bad. Besides, both Sam and Dean needed a friend to help them feel like normal snot-nosed little brats, which was something that they got precious little of thanks to the upbringing they were getting from their father. 

If that friend so happened to be a witch that wanted to train up to be a magic version of a _hunter_ , so be it. At the very least the boys wouldn’t have to lie about what they and their dad got up to on a regular basis. 

Inside the larger package were several smaller bundles. Each with a bit of parchment tied around it. The only one without a note looked to be a VHS tape. 

Bobby picked up a balled up wad of packing material to reach another packet, and dropped it when it seemed something on it moved. Upon further inspection, it revealed that what Harry had so _casually_ crumpled up and thrown into the box, was pages from a newspaper with pictures that moved as though they were alive. With a little more care than had been shown to the pages before, Bobby, Dean and Sam removed the last of the packing material, and managed to reassemble the paper. 

Dean smoothed out the cover. “Sammy, check this out.” The headline read _'The Famous Duo'_ with a large photo of Harry and some other wizard. The photo filled about half the page. Like the rest of the images, this one moved as well, and amusingly enough, it looked like the Harry in the photo wanted nothing to do with actually _staying_ in the frame. The adult wizard looked like a pompous ass, and kept trying to haul a very uncooperative Harry front and center. 

“River said something about Harry having to stop ducking out of photos. Maybe this is what she meant by that.” Sam knelt next to his brother to take a better look at the photo. Every chance Harry got, he tried to escape. Sam scrutinised the photo a little more. “Why’s Harry dirty?” 

  
**************************************************  


In it’s own way, the paper was just as much fun to read through as the rest of Harry’s care package. Bobby combed through _'The Daily Prophet'_ , reading the different articles. Every so often Bobby made a comment about being willing to sell his left nut to buy some such item or other thing listed in the ads. 

Harry sent lots of sweets. He made sure to write about the collectible chocolate frog cards, famous witches and wizards, there were over 500, and one of his friends was trying to get Agrippa and Ptolemy. If either of those showed up, please, please, please could they consider trading for it? A warning on the chocolate frogs mentioned that the frogs were not alive, and they only had one good jump in them before the animation spell wore off. 

Naturally Dean made sure the first frog he opened launched itself at Sam’s face. 

Sam’s own frog went sailing across the room, landing on Bobby’s desk where it hopped two more times before curling up when the spell wore off. 

“Herpo the Foul.” Dean read from his chocolate frog card and ignored the barely twitching frog. “Born in Ancient Greece, he was one of the earliest known Dark Wizards. His work is still a lasting aspect of dark magic to date. He is best known as the first wizard to hatch a basilisk. He was also the first wizard known to successfully create a horcrux. He is one of the earliest known parselmouths. 

“Dude, you got a chick!” 

For a moment the design on the card reminded Sam of the celestial curtains that Harry slept behind in Arizona. Golden stars and moons with a field of dark blue on a slip of pentagonal cardboard. Like on Dean’s card of Herpo the Foul, the witch on Sam’s card also moved. The name listed for his witch, Rowena Ravenclaw. With a shrug, Sam flipped the card over. “Hey, this is kind of cool. 

“One of the four co-founders of Hogwarts, Ravenclaw gave her name to one of the four houses (houses?) of the school. It is widely believed that she is the one that came up with the ‘ever-changing floor plan’ of the school. She is believed to be one of the brightest witches ever lived. Her daughter Helena, the grey lady, is the Ravenclaw house ghost at Hogwarts.” 

The next set of cards opened (this time Sam took care to avoid the flying frog, though Bobby wasn’t happy when it landed on him) were Heathcote Barbary, a guitarist for a wizarding rock band, and Uric the Oddball, the wizard that wore a jellyfish as a hat. 

Sam inspected the tin that claimed it held sugared butterfly wings. “You think they’re real butterfly wings?” 

“No way. Even wizards can’t be that weird.” Dean ripped open a brightly colored packet labeled Fizzing Wizbees. It looked sort of like the kind of packaging pop-rocks came in. Despite being larger than pop-rocks, Dean still popped several into his mouth and sucked on the candy. 

Dean would later vehemently deny the _very_ undignified and very girlish yelp that escaped his lips when the candy made him float a few inches in the air. 

It was the floating incident that made everyone reconsider the sweets, despite how innocuous they might seem. A jumping frog was one thing. If one candy made you float, what sort of _fun_ effects might another sweet have? Warily, Bobby eyed the licorice-wands. 

In the other room Bobby’s home phone rang. The corded unit sat amongst several other cordless handsets, all of which were labeled according to which alias or government department hypothetically those lines connected to. 

While Bobby went for the phone, Sam took advantage and popped the VHS tape into the VCR. 

Harry’s image came into view on the tv, along with a long stone hallway. For a moment, it _felt_ like Harry was fussing with the camera. On one side of the stone hallway were several large windows with leaded glass, the other side from what little could be seen, were oversized wooden doors with wrought iron fittings. 

“Right. So if this doesn’t work,” Harry smiled from the screen-- 

  
**************************************************  


_“I’ll probably sound like a right one. Talking to myself out here.” Harry chuckled and hoped that he didn’t sound too nervous. Biting his lower lip, Harry began walking with Archie through the hall making his way back to Gryffindor tower. “Bloody hell, you two’ve no clue how long I’ve been waiting to message you. S’not like I could owl you when I started Hogwarts last year._

_“Seriously though, waiting for 1992 to get here was torture!” Stopping momentarily, Harry tilted his head as something, a low whispering voice could barely be heard. . . Come. . . come to me. . . let me tear you. . . let me rip you. . . . let me kill you. . ._

_“What?” Harry blinked, and took a few steps towards where he thought that breath taking, ice-cold venom voice came from. At least he did until Archimedes bit him. “Ow! Hey! What was that for?”_

_Archie warbled._

_“Fine.” Harry turned on his heel, and went back the original direction he’d been moving in, back to Gryffindor tower._

_“Ah! I hope you like the sweets!” Coming to an intersection, Harry let Archimedes take flight, trusting that she’d keep filming. “I got them at a real wizard candy shop, in London! Everything should be safe, I mean, I really tried to make sure nothing in there was even potentially dangerous. There’s no doubt in my mind; If I ever made the mistake of sending something like acid pops or pepper-imps, your dad would hunt me down.” Harry shuddered at the thought of being hunted by John Winchester. The man was basically a force of nature. Once Mr. Winchester decided something was going to die, it was only a matter of time before it did._

_Archimedes kept circling, not bothering to inform Harry of the stealthy stalkers following. Instead, Archie refocused ON--_

  
**************************************************  


In the video Harry had come to a larger hallway, It was bigger than any place Sam or Dean had ever been before outside of museums and looked quite honestly like something out of a fairy tale. The paintings on the walls that Harry passed, the people in them moved, and Harry greeted a few of them back. One pointed out that it was late, and Harry should be in his dorm by now. 

Bobby stood in the kitchen doorway, phone to his ear as he watched Sam, Dean and the video. On the other end of the line was John, checking in on his boys. 

This-- This was getting more and more unnerving as each minute ticked by. Sure the newspaper was cute, but even a podunk town could run off a newsrag. Right now, they were just starting to get a peek into something much larger. Hunters ran across witches and covens all the time, but nothing ever like what was unboxed in his living room and displayed on his tv right now. 

One friendly time-traveling wizard was one thing. A friendly _society_ of wizards… Balls. 

Sam yelped when the camera focused on a set of dark robed figures moments before they bum-rushed Harry, and hauled him through an open door-- 

  
**************************************************  


_A hand clamped over his mouth prevented Harry from screaming bloody murder. Tangled in his school robes, Harry tried thrashing and getting loose, only to be dropped on the floor and sat on._

_“SHHHH!” Fred whispered sharply at Harry._

_George peeked out the door. “You’ll get us all caught.”_

_“That’d be--”_

_“Detention, and--”_

_“A hundred and fifty house points deducted--_

_“for three students being--”_

_“out of their dormitories after hours…”_

_“Again.”_

_The twins tossed their conversation back and forth seamlessly. Sitting on top of Harry, Fred shook his head. “It’s too early in the year to lose that many house points.”_

_Long dark robe sleeves were uselessly pushed out of the way, and George closed the door before crouching next to Harry. “Besides.” George started. “You were about to walk right across Filch’s path.” Fred joined in so that the twin redheads spoke in tandem._

_Harry was hauled up and set back his feet by Fred. “Lucky we came along.”_

_“More like Oliver sent us. Wanted to make sure Gryffindor’s Seeker was safe and sound.” George grinned. With an ear to ear grin, he draped an arm across Harry’s shoulder. “What are you doing anyway? Talking to yourself like that.”_

_Irritated, Harry smoothed out his robes after the rough treatment. “Well--”_

  
**************************************************  


The red haired fox-eyed twins that had tackled Harry were joking and laughing. One of them picked up the camera, and curiously looked into the lens, the mirthful grin never once faltered. 

Sam's attention was divided between the twin wizards and the room they'd all gone into. He grabbed the VCR’s remote, pausing the video he further studied the room (annoying Dean in the process). Behind Harry, Sam could see a chalkboard and several desks. The board had the remnants of the last period’s subject matter. 

“Knock it off.” Sam murmured when Dean tried to get the remote from him. He tapped the screen, pointing out the little bit still written on the board. “Really? They're in a magic school. Check it out. That looks like they were being taught to turn--” Looking closer at the tv, Sam squinted his eyes as he made out the lesson. “Animals into goblets… and back? How's that useful for anything?” 

Dean grabbed the remote back from his little brother. “How should I know. Maybe it's like a party trick… maybe art or something like that?” 

The rest of the video more or less went smoothly. Harry let the twins know that he was making a quick video in lieu of writing a letter (because his hand was cramped after that detention). After which Harry hastily explained to Fred and George what a video was, the twins were excited about the concept. Those two knowing where the video was going to end up resulted in both Fred and George insisting on introducing themselves (at least through said video) to Sam and Dean. 

Fred and George reminded the Winchesters of a set of curious kittens. There were no qualms about hauling Harry around either. 

It was at the twins insistence that they all go up to the astronomy tower. If Harry was _bending_ the rules about talking to muggles about wizards (Harry’s argument was that he didn’t really consider any of the Winchesters to be muggles, not with their sigil-work), they might as well show something truly impressive. 

************************************************** 

_“To the Astronomy Tower!” Fred laughed and grabbed Harry by one arm as George latched on to the other._

_Harry managed to squeak something about them getting into (more) trouble. Besides, he sort of did want to get to sleep sometime tonight. Not that either Weasley was paying attention to what Harry wanted at this moment._

_They took less travelled routes to get to the tower. Along the trip the twins happily recounted some of the more interesting parts of last school year… fun little tidbits like, winning the House-Cup, the troll that Harry and their youngest brother fought off on Halloween, how Harry managed to win their first Quidditch match by nearly swallowing the Snitch and of course that the most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor died._

_George shook his head. “You’d think our DADA professors would last a little longer. I mean, even though Quirrell was a bit rubbish” (and evil, Harry quietly added.) “He at least taught us more than Lockhart.”_

_“Personally, I think Dumbledore’s scraping the bottom of the barrell with Lockhart.” Fred rolled his eyes._

_“Unfortunately, our mum--” George was interrupted by his brother that finished speaking for him. “Thinks he’s brilliant.”_

_Again speaking in tandem, the twins sighed. “He’s more of a--”_

_This time it was Harry’s turn to interrupt. “Tosser?” In the Astronomy tower, Harry ended up sitting on the ledge of the balcony. “He’s pretty inept. The git let loose a bunch of Cornish Pixies in the classroom.”_

  
**************************************************  


Bobby got off the phone with John. Settling back into his recliner, he arrived in time to listen to Harry and his two wizard friends complaining about a lousy teacher. 

From the balcony different areas on the castle were pointed out and identified, owlry, greenhouse, forbidden forest and the Whomping Willow that Harry and Ron got detention for crashing a flying car into. Fred (at least Sam thought the twin on the right was Fred, Dean thought it was George) identified both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. George was the one who said the other two house dorms, Hufflepuff and Slytherin, were underground. 

In the distance, past the willow tree wearing a sling, a ripple could be seen in the water. Moments later a giant squid surfaced, moonlight reflecting off a round eye, before disappearing again under the dark water. None of the wizards in the video seemed to find a giant squid in the lake interesting enough to comment on. 

Over the next couple of weeks Harry, Sam and Dean wrote often. It started with short notes from Sam, to which Harry immediately wrote a deluge back coupled with more presents. All correspondence came and went with Harry’s snowy owl (that was eventually revealed to be named Hedwig). Harry’s presents had a varying range of usefulness. Books on runes, silver and gold coins… The quills were ‘interesting’, but the young Winchesters always made a bee-line for the sweets that inevitably ended up packed in there. 

Though, no one was sure how to react when a tawny owl delivered a toilet seat. No note. No explanations. Just, a toilet seat. The bird didn’t even bother to stick around for a note to be sent back with it. 

Two days later Hedwig showed up with a hastily scrawled apology from Harry. The toilet seat had been sent by Fred and George, the Weasley twins, as a joke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd. Sorry for any bad English. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the smut. Not sure where it came from. Then again, with John Hart in the fic, sexy times will happen. 
> 
> Ratings and tags have been updated.

On John Hart’s stolen time-agent ship Dean woke and stared at the ceiling for a bit to collect his thoughts. Dick at half-mast an asshole still sore from being deliciously stretched and teased before getting thoroughly fucked, Dean allowed his head to loll to the side and found himself alone. Asshole. Mentally he swore at John, while seriously envying the bastard’s recuperation time. Last night started as a border line hate-fuck, and progressed into something a lot more fun and pleasurable (once both men had _stopped_ trying to _dominate_ each other in bed).

The thought of the previous night brought Dean’s half-chub up to full hardness, tenting the bed sheets. 

He didn’t even think about it. Dean reached between the sheets and took his erection in hand. Strong fingers, calloused from a hard life as a Hunter, wrapped around his shaft and mechanically began pumping. The rhythm was slow and practiced. Heart racing, he breathed into the sensation, groaning softly as the pressure in his balls steadily built. A thumb rubbed across the slit, and clever fingers moistened the rest of the shaft with pre-cum. 

Sheets kicked away, and now tangled around one leg. Dean lay sprawled across the bed panting in need. Eyes closed, almost desperate, as it always did, his entire world spiraled down to chasing this modicum of pleasure. 

Dean tried hard to think of Lisa, then Cassie, even that bitch Bela was totally a screwable option. His traitorous imagination only bothered to offer up John’s mouth, on his dick, head bobbing up and down in time with his strokes. Fuck it all. Dean ran with the mental image, hips pistoned up off the bed of their own accord, thrusting into his fist with almost violent abandon. 

Buckling down on the fantasy of John, it didn’t take long for Dean’s balls to tighten up against his body. Dean tensed, his dick hard and throbbing in his hand. That practiced rhythm long forgotten. Dean’s fist pumped in short erratic movements. Pressure at the base of his cock built up almost painfully. 

The world greyed around the edges. Dean managed to bite back a shout when his orgasm hit. Hips mindlessly thrusting, he milked his dick. Pleasurable spasms rocked his entire body. Dean went taut before finally collapsing back down on the bed, panting heavily. His body covered in a light sheen of sweat, and a belly wet with cum. 

Flat on his back, once he remembered how to breathe, Dean’s breathing slowly stabilized while air returned to his lungs. A now flaccid member hung limply between spread legs and ejaculate quickly cooled on Dean’s lower belly where it fell. 

Sated and fully relaxed, Dean enjoyed the quiet solitude of the afterglow. 

Minutes ticked by. 

Clarity kicked back in. He smelled like sex. One of John’s shirts was on the headboard. Deciding to call it retribution for John being a dick earlier, Dean grabbed the shirt and cleaned most of the mess off himself as best he could. 

Finally he climbed out of bed. Dean reached around to see where in the hell his jeans had gone. Questing fingers found a few new and a few used condoms, their wrappers and knocked over the bottle of strawberry flavored lube that had been tossed over the side of the bed at some point during last night’s fun. Thankfully it had been closed at the time it originally hit the floor. 

For a walking sexual innuendo, John Hart was adamant about safe sex. John admitted to being a man-slut, and with the amount of STDs out there, past, present and future, the ex-Time-Agent wasn’t taking chances. Even less with Dean and Dean’s sexual reputation. John made it clear that in his opinion Dean’s probability for having already caught something was pretty damn high. 

Dean really hoped that John had been kidding about the pregnancy thing. With someone from the 51st century, he _really_ didn’t know. 

His original clothes had somehow managed to disappear shortly after being brought back to John Hart’s ship. The only time Dean bothered asking where the fuck _his_ clothes had _gone_ , John made a joke about them being jettisoned out of an airlock. After all, they were hideous. New clothes soon appeared for Dean. Thankfully these were more along the lines of what he normally wore. 

Not that Dean complained. It wasn’t like he really missed the ww2 navy uniform that he’d stolen when Lucifer (wearing a Castiel suit) sent him to the sub to find a weapon of God. 

Dean wasn’t dead in Pompeii. A very good thing in his opinion. Not that he hadn’t the foggiest how long he’d been on this ship with John Hart. More than one or two days, that was for sure. Though, Dean didn’t think that he’d been there a week, yet, maybe. Hell, he didn’t have a clue _when_ they were. Just that right now John’s ship was tethered at the top of the Empire State Building. 

Still, the whole _not dead thing_ , very big mark in the positive column. 

A pair of jeans sat rumpled at the foot of the bed, the same ones that’d been stripped off him the night before. They weren’t too dirty. As far as Dean was concerned, jeans could be worn about a million times before Sammy bitched enough for them to be run through the wash. Dean grabbed those along with a shirt that had landed a few feet further than the jeans. For a moment he debated the shirt, but it passed the sniff-test, and that was good enough for him. 

The clothes were wadded up into a ball and tucked under an arm. Dean didn’t bother covering up as he made his way to the shower. A saucy wink was given to John as he passed the blond in the small hallway. People might think he’s a walking libido, but he didn’t have to smell like sex. 

  
**************************************************  


The first week of October Harry’s letter reached the Winchesters. In the middle of a hunt for a particularly voracious critter, John Winchester left the boys ‘parked’ nearby at a dusty, run down motel in Wisconsin. 

Back one evening to check in on Sam and Dean, John saw Harry’s friggin’ owl noiselessly swoop down out of the sky and land on his car with a loud screech. Every single step that dratted bird took left a small scratch in the impala’s finish. It wasn’t so much that John minded his car being used as a landing pad. What pissed him of had been the snowy owl prowling around the hood, fluttering its wings like some strange twisted combination of exotic dancer and screaming neon sign. Nothing drew attention like that damn white owl. Worse yet, it stuck around until either Sam or Dean sent a note back with her. Today, John stepped out to get the _‘mail’_ , Hedwig screeched at him and backed off, obviously wanting to deliver her letter to one of the boys. 

“Dean!” John barked at his eldest son, and severely wished he’d gotten that drink before coming back. “Get the damn bird. It’s screwing up the paint job.” 

Dean poked his head out of the motel room, saw Hedwig and smirked. He had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason the bird didn’t get shot, was because all of Harry’s _silly_ presents had all but funded the past few hunting expeditions. Apparently even his dad could appreciate not having to constantly worry about how to pay for a motel, or their next meal without hustling poker, pool or resorting to the old stand-by, credit card fraud. 

“Hey Hedwig.” Dean greeted the owl. Bright golden eyes looked up at him. 

Hedwig trotted over to Dean, scratching even more of the paint of the Impala. Delicately, she held out her leg with a scroll tied to it, and chirped sweetly at Dean. 

Dean shook his head and sighed, but untied the scroll anyway. “You could try to _not_ scratch up the car. Dad might like you a _little_ better.” 

In the letter, Harry asked if on the video, they’d heard the other voice around the point where Archie bit him. The reason Harry was asking, was because recently he heard that same voice again, albeit in a different hallway. Harry knew that John and Bobby sometimes could pick up EMF (not that Harry thought this was a case of EMF) from recordings. But it didn’t hurt to check. Honestly, Harry really just wanted some assurance that he wasn’t going mad. Hearing voices, even for wizards couldn’t be a good thing. 

Harry wrote that he didn’t think the voice was a ghost. After all, ghosts didn’t exactly hide at Hogwarts, they floated around and chatted with the students on a regular basis. There was even a poltergeist named Peeves on school grounds. The news of both ghosts and poltergeists made John itch for a good old fashioned salt ‘n burn to clear the spirits out. 

Instead, John called Bobby. The puppy-eyes Sam gave John in regards to helping out Harry sealed the deal. 

  
**************************************************  


The hunt… didn’t go as smoothly as it should have. Nothing went according to plan. He was in a hurry, John admitted to himself and wanted to finish up quickly. Whether that was because he wanted to get back to the half-empty bottle of Jack sitting in the car, or to get back to his boys was completely up for debate. 

Either way, the result was the same. 

John lay bleeding out inside an old barn, on a nearly abandoned patch of land, at the end of an almost forgotten dirt road. Around him he could hear the small nest of vampires that had made their home there. He’d overestimated his research. Overestimated himself. 

The nest was small with cautious feeding habits. Little wonder he’d mistaken what he was hunting. Vampires were pretty damn near extinct. 

Fuck. John managed to take down two of the bastards before they got him. As if that was any sort of consolation. He’d failed. Now. Now he was dead. 

Grunting in pain, John struggled as he was flipped over onto his back. The vampire pinning him taunted John in his helplessness. Much to the hunter’s horror, with a wicked grin, the vampire shoved an arm into his mouth. 

A large gash on the vampire’s arm oozed tainted blood, forcing ichor down John’s throat. 

All around the world went fuzzy and bright. 

Laughing, the vampire stood, then stepped back to stand with the remaining monsters. Smug, shit eating grins were plastered across the faces of all present except for John… who barely managed to stumble blindly as he vainly tried to throw up the blood that was currently turning him. 

  
**************************************************  


Outside Dean kept a close eye on the proceedings inside the barn through a crack between the boards. They’d arrived in town a few days ago, and he’d gone and done his own research. Unlike his dad, Dean realized what was dropping bodies in Wisconsin, and prepared accordingly. A syringe filled with dead man’s blood sat capped in his pocket. In his hand, a machete. All in all, pretty much everything needed to take down a blood-sucker. 

He didn’t really know, or care, what prompted John Hart to listen to him about tracking down his dad. Though, Dean had a sneaking suspicion that his fuck-buddy was in this for trophies. Hart was that special kind of asshole. At least the bastard didn’t reach Bela levels of assholery, where people got hurt from her escapades. Hart seemed to enjoy the wanton violence associated with hunters. A good vamp hunt would provide enough of that. 

Dean counted five living vamps, two dead. Odds didn’t look too bad, as long as they had the upper hand and were able to take the vamps by surprise. One vamp had his dad pinned, and was currently turning John Winchester into a vampire. That’s a dumbass move if there ever was one. Go ahead give a hunter super strength, enhanced reflexes and super senses. See how well the rest of the nest survives a pissed off super hunter. 

For a moment Dean debated hanging back and letting his dad finish turning and taking the rest of those sons of bitches down. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean swore as he saw Hart kick the door in and open fire on the vamps. Machete in hand, he scrambled around the barn’s side to join in the attack... There went the fucking advantage. Asshole!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not saying that either John Hart or Dean Winchester have STDs. My headcanon gave them both a clean bill of health. Still, safe sex is important; especially when you're a time-traveler. You never know if you pick something up in one century if there will be a functional treatment in the century you travel to. 
> 
> Then again, show canon proves that Dean is an idiot and doesn't always use protection since there has been at least ONE confirmed _oopsie_ (amazon daughter, Emma) and one potential _oopsie_ (Ben).


	4. Chapter 4

Dean paced the barn, ignoring the decapitated vampires and blood on the ground. Somehow he and Asshole (Dean’s _not-quite-affectionate_ ‘pet name’ for John Hart) had managed to take out the nest. Stepping over his own unconscious father, he absentmindedly kicked the now empty syringe out of the way. Deadman’s blood, worked every time. For vamps, it was the same as tranqing them. Asshole looked a little too smug while lounging by a set of rickety stairs that led into the barn’s loft.

“Just in case you’re thinking about it.” Dean declared before Hart got any _more_ bright ideas. “We are NOT having sex here!” 

Blood everywhere, yeah, Asshole would find it kinky or some shit. Vampires, just no way to kill the bastards neatly. 

“Spoilsport.” Hart snarked back in amusement. Then started stalking around the area to see if there was anything there he might be interested in. With the squalor the vampires were living in, it didn’t seem likely, though John was always optimistic. 

A smart phone was retrieved from Dean’s jacket pocket. Years ago the Doctor had given it the _‘superphone’_ treatment. If Dean remembered correctly, this phone got the treatment during the christmas party at Amy and Rory’s home. That was the year Harry randomly decided he wanted to celebrate christmas… with as many friends as possible. Which meant the little dork dragged him and Sam to England, and brought Lisa and Ben along on the trip as well. Lisa had been over the moon that they were getting a vacation that wasn’t getting crashed by the supernatural. Though she’d been highly suspicious about the first class plane tickets Harry paid for. 

It hadn’t been the first, nor if history repeated itself, the last time he and Sam would need a phone kitted out by the Doctor as a _‘superphone’_. Impossible to trace, didn’t need a service provider, and could call most anywhere. In other words, it was a phone made of pure awesome. 

Bobby’s number was dialed in. When the call was picked up, and Dean heard the gruff voice on the other side, he felt his heart try to break. What he _wanted_ to tell Bobby exactly how he died and to stay safe, stay alive; He and Sam needed him. “Hey, Bobby.” 

  
**************************************************  


“Hey, Bobby.” 

The voice on the phone sounded eerily like John’s voice. Bobby cradled the handset in the crook of his neck while finishing up some research for some idiot wet-behind the ears rookie hunter. “Speaking. Who’s calling?” 

“Uhm, yeah, long story short, I’m a friend. I’ve traveled in the Tardis with the Doctor. So, do me a huge favor and just take me at my word when I tell you I’m a friend and that you need to pick up Sam and Dean. They’re at this little flea-bag motel in Fairbrooke, Wisconsin called--” The caller paused, and yelled at someone with him. -- _Asshole! Knock it off. I swear, he wakes up and fucking bites you, I’ll be cheering him on! Comprende?_ \-- “Sorry ‘bout that. But, yeah. Motel, Merle’s Hide-Away--” 

Bobby put his pencil down in the middle of the book he’d been going through, concerned etched across his features. as to why some stranger was calling about the boys. Screw their father. “Just saying you’re a friend of the Doctor don’t buy jack with me. Who are you, and what the Sam Hill happened to John?” 

“John’ll be fine in a few days. Promise. He’s just caught a little case of-- uhm, _monster._ ” 

  
**************************************************  


“He’s just caught a little case of-- uhm, _monster._ ” Dean glanced down at his dad, for some reason, some irrational reason, he didn’t want to admit to Bobby that he’d stayed a hunter. In a weird way it felt almost like he’d failed. He never got out of the life. Bobby always wanted him and Sam to do better with their lives. Dean kept speaking, not sparing the grisled hunter a chance to interrupt. “Good news is, it’s curable. Bad news is, the cure’s a bitch… it’ll make him sick as a dog for a while. 

“Those kids don’t need to see their dad like that. I can keep John on lock-down till he’s good to go. Hell, I’ll even drive him up to your place. You can bitch at me in person. Bye.” 

  
**************************************************  


Call dropped, Bobby glared at the cordless phone as though it had betrayed him. “Well, damn.” 

There wasn’t a whole lot he could do. With John out of the picture (as their friendly _stranger_ had volunteered), the boys were left to their own devices… which put those two in direct danger of social services. Last thing either Bobby or John wanted was for Sam and Dean to be picked up by those government desk-jockeys. Fingers tapping across the spine of a book about Sumerian runes, Bobby gave a deep sigh. 

The motel where the boys were staying was called up, and Bobby patched through to the room with Sam and Dean. Those two knew how to scrub a room, and Bobby let them knew he was coming. 

Also let those two know that their dad was with one of the _Doctor’s_ buddies, but that the idjit hadn’t been more forthcoming with information. 

  
**************************************************  


Shoved harshly against the impala, Dean growled in annoyance at John, who merely snickered in response. A hand slipped up his shirt and talented fingers skimmed up past strong abs, aiming straight for already perked nipples. By now that was pretty much a pavlovian response. Hart got his hands on him, and crazy hot _fucking_ happened. Not _love_ , they didn’t make _love_. There wasn’t any love between them, not real love anyway. “Knock it off.” Dean rumbled darkly. “I told you, not here.” 

Still snickering, John whispered, his breath hot and humid against the shell of Dean’s ear. “We’re not inside anymore.” 

Dean shoved Hart off, albeit reluctantly.Last thing he was interested in was fooling around while his dad was hogtied in the back seat of the impala. At least, the brain in Dean’s _head_ thought that way. The brain waking in his pants? That was another story entirely. His waking member started nudging its way up to stand proudly at attention. “Told you, knock it off. Right now priority numero uno is getting my dad better.” 

“I heard you. Don’t believe you, since someone looks very interested in something else.” Grinning, Hart palmed Dean’s erection through suddenly too tight jeans. The warmth and not nearly quite enough, but oh so delicious friction put Dean on edge almost immediately and dragged a low raspy groan from the hunter. 

With a hungry growl bordering on feral, Dean gave up any last pretense and pulled Hart in close for a kiss. Lips pressed, gnashing, together the two men fought for dominance over the other. Dean's breath was hot and heavy as he struggled for air. This was a fight Dean was rapidly losing, but at least it’d be lost with pleasure. 

Did they even have time for this shit, Dean wondered as his dick happily twitched to life. His thoughts flit momentarily back to his unconscious dad tied up in the back seat of the Impala. From experience, Dean knew newly made vamps were on the woozy side. Add in a healthy dose of Deadman’s blood? It was a pretty safe bet that John Winchester wouldn't stir for several hours at least. Fuck it. They had time. They had plenty of damn time. 

“Fine.” Dean growled through grit teeth. “Let’s do this.” 

Hart bit out a grating laugh and caged Dean against the hard steel door of the Impala. “Lovely.” Teeth grazed, dangerously close to being a bite, at Dean's lobe as Hart whispered into his ear. “I want you bent over your precious _Baby_ as I split you wide open.” 

The hand groping his junk tightened. Dean gasped and squirmed as his hard-on flagged just ever so slightly. 

Just as _ordered_ , Dean bent over the hood of the impala, his palms flat against the unyielding metal. Clad in a faded tight black shirt and jeans, the cool night breeze raised goosebumps on Dean’s skin. The sweat damped shirt stuck to him like a second skin. The car was still pleasantly warm, heat spread across Dean’s body where it made contact with the impala’s sleek form. In his pants, his erection pushed against the denim fly, pre-cum darkened a growing spot at the front of his jeans. The top button already popped open during their kiss. 

Hart stepped up behind Dean, and shimmied loose jeans down off slender hips. A flash of pink visible as the band of satin panties came into view, eliciting a dark chuckle from the erstwhile time-agent. “Glad to see you wore them.” 

“Yeah, well. You know me.” Dean grinned back. Pink satin panties. A week spent with one relatively unique Rhonda Hurley had taught a 19 year-old Dean a lot about himself... and instilled that particular kink in him. It was fun and harmless. 

Being the hedonistic ass that he was, like hell Dean was going to give up a chance to revel in this one kink. Even more so when the partner in question came from a time when people had gotten past petty little labels. Besides, with a machine that popped out perfectly tailored clothes, not wearing the panties was just a dumb-ass move. 

The shirt was made short work of. Pulled off and balled up, it ended up wedged under Dean to function as a craptastic pillow between him and his _Baby_. 

Had Dean expected sex tonight? To be honest, he did. Just not quite like this. 

Bent over the car that had been his and his brother’s home for so long, ass out, with panties now askew while Hart fondled his cock and balls through the thin material and pants pooling around his ankles. Dean was harder than he’d ever been in his life. 

Hart snapped the elastic, letting the thin delicate pink band pop against Dean’s sweat slicked skin. With a groan, those hips moved of their own accord, lazily pumping back and forth into John Hart’s fist. “Shhh…” Kisses mapped out Dean’s back, freckle to freckle, with a mean bite to the meaty part of the shoulder hard enough to draw a thin bead of blood. 

Dean bucked at the bite. The angle was wrong, and a hand firmly pressed down on the small of his back made sure he was staying put. Again he could hear _Asshole_ snicker in amusement. 

Strange and shiny designs were left in the dusty hood of the impala as Dean’s hands scrambled for purchase. 

Dean could feel Hart’s hand slip in under the panties, and slowly pull them down out of the way. The elastic dragging down along his skin. A slicked finger trailed up and down his crack, before pausing at his puckered hole. Dean’s breath stuttered as the pad of a finger pressed up against the tensed muscle, and pushed in. 

In. 

Out. 

In… Dean remembered to breathe. Pathetic little breaths. Dean remembered to not clamp the fuck down on the invading digit. Hips hitching, he pushed back when a second finger joined the first. It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt. 

“How do you stay so wonderfully tight?” Knuckle deep, Hart murmured in appreciation as he slowly finger fucked Dean, opening him up one orgasm inducing whimper at a time. His own organ wept to thrust with abandon into that velvety warmth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea WHY my brain decided to throw smut at me for this chapter too... Seriously. I kept trying to write something else, and my brain threw up porn. I wrote a good thirteen pages of A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT fic, and still ended up with sex right here. WTF?
> 
> So, sorry for the short chapter. I figured if we got the smexoring out of the way, the plot that hijacked the _original_ plot may continue. 
> 
> I blame John Hart for the smut. That sexy, sexy manho. >.>;;;


	5. Chapter 5

Dean remembered all too well how the Campbell cure for vampirism felt. Then he recalled how much of a dick his dad had been while he and Sammy were growing up. “Come on.” Dean barked then none too kindly shoved his dad into baby’s passenger seat and slammed the heavy door shut. Overhead the sun shone brightly, nary a cloud loitered in the dazzling blue sky.

Dirt crunched under Dean’s boots as he made his way around the impala. 

Sliding into the driver's seat, key in the ignition, with one turn the impala roared to life. They were headed back to Bobby’s. Harry would be there. Not the one that was supposed to be in this time either. This one, was older with a working vortex-manipulator and no Doctor. 

On the dash sat Dean's cellphone. It had been turned off ever since John Hart ditched him. Dean ignored the questioning look from his dad. At least he tried. “Look, I ain’t answering shit. Yeah, it's me, and yeah, you were cured of a nasty case of monster.” 

“How in the hell--” John started, but was interrupted before he could finish forming a question. 

Green eyes flecked with gold flicked towards John in annoyance, then Dean turned his attention back to the road. Every so often his ring tapped against the steering wheel, clinking merrily. “Nuh, uh.” A smirk settled on his lips. “Bad enough that I hauled your ass outta the proverbial fire using Hunter tricks that I know you never knew.” 

“Where we headed?” John’s voice was gruff. More or less it seemed that he accepted what Dean told him. The older Hunter watched his son, a little bewildered at the man Dean had grown into. 

Dean swallowed hard. His gaze still locked on the asphalt road ahead of them. “Bobby's.” 

************************************************** 

Despite the fact that they'd been back at least a day, their bags still sat haphazardly against a wall in the hallway. That afternoon Sammy clamored into the living room and dropped onto the threadbare sofa. 

Even in the more relaxed environment of Bobby's home, Dean fretted over his dad. Somehow Sam managed to talk his brother into watching some tv. Still, Dean's thoughts drifted to what might have happened instead of paying attention to whatever bright and colorful show Sammy insisted on watching. 

Despite having his attention split between Sammy and his ruminations over their father… Dean was the first to notice something was up with the fireplace. 

Inside the cold stone enclosure, something started glowing emerald green. The color was almost menacing as it slowly built up strength behind the iron grate. 

Thump. THUMP! The grate covering Bobby’s fireplace rattled violently. Soot churned up as something very solid clanged against the wrought iron. 

At the first noise, Sam and Dean quickly were ushered behind Bobby as the grizzled hunter cocked a shotgun in the direction of his fireplace. Backing up, the kids were maneuvered out of the room and into the hallway. 

Brilliant emerald-green flames licked past the grate, an eerie glow spread through the room. 

The grate clattered noisily as it flew open forcefully, banging against an unfortunate stack of books. A dark robed figure came tumbling out and coughed loudly from the soot hanging in the air. The figure took no notice of Sam, Dean, Bobby or the gun aimed directly at him. Instead without much adieu, a handful of bright powder was tossed back into the fireplace. The fire, still an unnatural color, roared higher. “Oi you! Come on over… I made it through in one piece!” 

Sam recognized the accent, and much more importantly, he could place the voice. 

Within seconds two more dark robed figures tumbled out of the fireplace, both coughing up a storm. The smallest of the three was almost protectively bundled up. Hoods thrown back to reveal bright red hair and freckled cheeks, a set of fox-eyed wizard twins grinned mischievously. “Hallo!” They chimed in unison before turning their attention back down to the third person they'd dragged into Bobby's home. 

Kneeling on the well-worn rug, one arm tucked up bracing his midsection, Harry tugged his hood down and released the death-grip he had on his owl. If there had been any question in regards to who their mysterious visitors were, it was answered once Archimedes flapped over indignantly and landed on Sam’s shoulder. Twittering in annoyance, the electronic owl preened, then nibbled on a convenient earlobe. 

“Harry, you okay down there?” One of the twins asked, sounding a little too pleased with himself and the situation that they found themselves in. 

Harry shook his head. 

“Bloody hell.” The twins looked at each other, then scooped Harry up. A twin per side, his feet barely brushing the floor. Harry looked positively green. 

“Just a moment.” From Harry’s left, the twin tried to console him. 

The twin on Harry's right finally spoke to Bobby, still ignoring the shotgun. “We need the loo.” 

“Harry's gonna be sick.” 

************************************************** 

From the bathroom, the sounds of Harry retching could be heard. Every so often one of the twins would pop out to confirm that everything was okay. No one was dead or dying, as far as the twins were concerned, Harry trying to puke his guts out was nothing more than a nasty side effect of the spell used to get them there. 

Once there was nothing left in Harry's stomach to evacuate, the young wizard emerged, but still looked a bit on the peaky side. He smiled uneasily at Sam and Dean. “Hey guys--” 

From the folds of a dark robe a toothbrush and toothpaste appeared and was shoved at Harry from the right. The twin that handed it off kept looking around, inquisitive eyes never stopping long on any one particular item. Apparently deciding to give Harry some privacy as he washed back up, the twins remained outside the bathroom. “So.” The first one started. 

Continuing as though they were a single person instead of two. “You're Sam and Dean.” 

“Harry's-- 

“American-- 

“muggle-- 

“friends.” They bounced the words back and forth flawlessly. 

Dean glared back, not sure if he liked the mischievous duo. He'd already placed himself between them and Sammy. “Depends.” Those two were like grinning cheshire cats. “What the heck’s a muggle?” 

“Muggles are people without magic.” Harry's voice sounded a little rough around the edges, but at least he’d lost the sickly green tinge and had perked up a fair bit. “Sam, Dean… this is Fred and George.” 

“Sorry ‘bout the abrupt entry.” George stated. 

Fred continued. “Harry was moping about.” 

“Was not!” Harry tried to protest, but the twins happily ignored his complaints and continued to speak over him. 

“We thought-- 

“The best way-- 

“to cheer Harry back up…” 

Fred and George ping-ponged back and forth before speaking in unison. “Was a visit with friends that aren’t complete arses.” 

“So-- 

“we kidnapped him.” Fred looked a little too pleased with himself. 

George grinned and slung an arm across Harry’s shoulder. “An’ brought him here.” 

Finally the dark robes were ditched, and following that went a set of maroon hand-knit sweaters. Fred and George wore matching violet button-up shirts with tiny vines and lilac flowers that swayed every so often in a soft magical breeze. The shirts were old but well tended, with Fred’s having been accidentally washed to a lighter color, and in a few places the flowers had thinned out where the shirt had been visibly mended at various points over time. 

With the robes gone, Sam and Dean finally saw Harry's arm in a sling. 

“Harry. What the heck?” Dean’s protective older brother mode kicked into high-gear. Before he could even catch himself, the young hunter moved forward. It was dumb. Dean knew that Harry could take care of himself, right? But, that was an older Harry… Damnit. Dean started to usher Harry back into the living room to sit down. “What happened, and why does your arm look so weird?” 

Fred and George were more than happy to jump in and regale everyone with the mighty tale of how Harry got targeted and repeatedly attacked by a bludger… refused to forfeit the Quidditch match to Slytherin, broke his arm, kept playing with a useless right arm, fell some forty feet off his broom and still managed to keep ahold of the Snitch; ending the game and winning 150 points for Gryffindor! 

“Doesn't explain the deflated tire look.” Sam less than helpfully pointed out while the twins were jumping around in a joyous re-celebration of the spectacular Quidditch win. 

Harry sighed in annoyance and flopped back on the sofa. “Lockhart.” 

“I'm surprised Oliver, our team captain, didn't attack the git.” Fred sat on the floor and pulled a robe close before rifling through the many pockets. 

“Yeah. Harry was begging for anyone but that berk to help him.” George perched on the armrest of the sofa. Absentmindedly he tapped out a rhythm on the upholstered surface. 

With a shrug, Harry’s attention was being stolen by the snacks Fred had stowed away in the robe. Food was being brought out and a small banquet slowly but surely started to take shape; complete with silverware. “Lockhart said the pain was making me delirious, cast the spell, and magicked away all the bones in my arm.” Harry made a face. “Growing the bones back isn't fun. Itches like crazy-- 

“Are… are those pumpkin pasties?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the crazy delay. I sort of got MARRIED! OMG!!! <3
> 
> Still settling into married life. Which then of course my computer breaks (the hard-disk). Thankfully I write my fics up in google docs, which means I can work on them when-ever, where-ever... I can write on my phone, it's harder, and I've no clue how to post updated chapters here. Blargh! 
> 
> What's totally NOT helping is the fact that another plot-bunny has attacked me. Yikes!


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